


prepend

by tyrantmoves



Series: Jay Shepard [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Earthborn (Mass Effect), Mass Effect 1, Pre-Relationship, Renegade Commander Shepard, Ruthless (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7183937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrantmoves/pseuds/tyrantmoves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not ready to give up the case on Saren -- but he's not sure he wants help from someone with a reputation like hers. </p><p>Garrus' first encounter with a renegade Commander Shepard on the Citadel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prepend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am working on the next chapter of [fadeIn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4900864/chapters/11239990) but it's proving very difficult to write. I felt like I needed to go back to the beginning, write about how they met and that early dynamic, to help me get my head around it. 
> 
> It's pretty rough as it was more a thought exercise for me to learn more about my renegade leaning Garrus, so bear with me. I hope you guys get some enjoyment out of it too.

If Garrus Vakarian had to choose between walking over to the lab and getting the biometrics scanned on this case _again_ or simply cutting himself to use his own DNA as a sample, he’d be very tempted to choose the latter.

“No luck, huh?” Elyat smirked, leaning nosily over his shoulder and peering at the big red _No Match Found_ report up on his screen. Garrus swivelled around, intentionally knocking into his fellow detective. She hissed when he hit her knees, backing up. That’d teach the smug drell bitch, he thought with the unseemly satisfaction that always accompanied weariness.

“Finding the suspect isn’t a matter of _luck_ , it’s a matter of that softie forensics tech doing her fucking job,” Garrus spat back, folding his arms across his chest. Elyat, rubbing her knee with one hand and gripping her coffee with the other, opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted.

“Officer Vakarian,” the cool asari voice of the office VI warned. “According to subsections fifty-five of the _Universal Rights of Galactic Organic Sentients_ , sections one-hundred-three to one-hundred-ten of the _Citadel Security Establishment Charter of Conduct_ , the five-hundredth-seventy-second amendment to the _Glossary of Inflammatory, Libelous and Speciesist Language_ , C-SEC RIGHTS WATCH must unfortunately remind you that your language is considered inappropriate and unacceptable as a C-SEC employee.” The VI paused and then added cheerfully, “This incident has been recorded.”

“Why?” Elyat snarled, dropping into the chair by her desk and scowling at the holographic green asari berating them. “Because you asari bitches like to fuck humans? Is that why we can’t say softie?”

“Officer Elyat, according to subsections fifty-five of the --”

“ _Oh for fuck’s sake_!” Garrus exclaimed, pushing to his feet. He scooped up his datapad. “Figure out how to shut that damn thing off, will you? Can’t even vent without being politically correct around here these days, Spirits.”

“Officer Vakarian, expletives are also frowned upon, according to --”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I _know_ all the protocols,” Garrus muttered, packing up his bag, stuffing items in angrily.

“This incident has been recorded. This brings your current total of verbal misconduct incidents to twelve.”

“Not bad,” Elyat observed, nodding approvingly without looking away from her own computer screen.

“C-SEC RIGHTS WATCH encourages you to do better tomorrow,” the VI finished before the hologram collapsed back into the console.

Elyat snorted a laugh ungracefully. Garrus didn’t bother replying as he moved to the door. Just as he was leaving, Elyat called out, “Let’s see if we can do better tomorrow, Vakarian! Should we go for fifteen?”

\

He had intended to go straight to the lab but had been pulled aside by the Executor, of all people. “Vakarian,” Executor Pallin barked, half-dragging Garrus into his office. He closed the door behind them. “Did you make any progress on the Saren case?”

Garrus shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, no, the forensics labs must have made a mistake, I didn’t get a match even though I’m _sure_ the DNA is from the right person --”

The Executor waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off. “No matter, we didn’t expect much anyways. Consider the case closed.”

Garrus felt his mandibles flare and his mood darken. “But, sir, I was just on my way to the lab, I’m sure it was a mistake, this could be a solid lead --”

“Listen to me, son,” the Executor warned, stepping closer. He folded his arms behind his back and loomed over Garrus, who was himself by no means short. Garrus also, for many reasons, deeply resented being called _son_ by anyone at all. “This is over your head and bigger than you. _The -- case -- is -- closed._ ”

The Executor paused to let the words sink in, his eyes searching Garrus’ for signs of disobedience. When he saw none, he continued, “There’s been reports of medical malpractice in the lower wards” -- Garrus fought the desire to scowl, knowing that the Executor had chosen those words very intentionally -- “And I want you to look into it. It could be big, Officer Vakarian. It needs your attention. Dismissed.”

Baffled and feeling undermined, Garrus swivelled with a salute and left. He and the Executor didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things but the rancid smell of a Spectre gone bad was something they both turned their noses up at. What had changed the Executor’s mind? Hadn’t he been just as eager to catch Saren as Garrus had been? This had been the biggest case Garrus had been handled in a while, after the incident with the shootout in the Upper Wards with the Blood Pack. Here he was now, being bribed away with _medical malpractice_. As if that was some kind of reward for ... keeping his mouth shut, Garrus decided. That’s what this was about.

Feeling somehow even more exhausted and defeated than when he’d left the annoyingly tattle-tale VI, Garrus walked down the hall.

He was angry and tired, but not so angry and tired that he didn’t notice the headlines flashing over every news screen on his way down the hall. _“Commander Shepard accuses veteran Spectre for responsibility in the death of fellow Spectre Nihlus Kyrik,”_  or _“Rumours circulating that Commander Jay Shepard -- the “Butcher of Torfan” -- is Councillor Udina’s frontrunning choice for the first human Spectre nomination_ ,” or perhaps most interesting of all, a lesser known fringe news portal was claiming, _“Commander Shepard claims Prothean ruins_ ‘spoke to her’ _in the aftermath of Eden Prime. Maintains that the Protheans were trying to communicate a warning of impending attack for future civilizations.”_

An enemy of his enemy, then. Even if she had some outlandish delusions.

\

When he reached the Presidium Tower, before he could even look around to call out her name, another human intercepted him. This human man had dark skin and a decorated Alliance Navy uniform; a captain, Garrus interpreted from his insignia. “Detective Garrus Vakarian?” the man asked crisply, politely.

Garrus was taken aback. He was not used to being recognized immediately on the Citadel at all, especially in his civvies, and _especially_ not by humans who couldn’t even tell a Bound Drell from an Unbound Drell apart (even _elcors_ knew the difference), let alone a specific turian. “Who’s asking?” Garrus replied neutrally, guarding his tone from both interest and the respect he felt.

“There's no need for that; I'm here as an ally,” the man replied. He held out his hand in Garrus shook it as the man added, “Captain David Anderson, Alliance Navy. My XO wants to speak to you.”

Garrus let his gaze flit around the gardens, searching for Shepard -- unlike most, he had always been good at picking out individuals, even of others species. He had her face ingrained into his mind. “I’m off duty right now: your XO can come by my office later --”

“You’re going to want to talk to her,” Anderson warned more than suggested. “I suspect you’re looking for her right now.” Garrus turned his head sharply to meet Anderson’s gaze. “I’m Shepard’s commanding officer -- hopefully for not much longer.”

“As it happens, I am interested in speaking to her,” Garrus agreed, probably more eagerly than he should have. _Just put your whole damn hand on the table, why don’t you?_

“Thought so,” Anderson nodded his approval. “Here’s my advice; don’t look for her.”

“You said she wanted to speak to me?” Garrus asked, confused now.

“Exactly,” Anderson confirmed, nodding aggravatingly again. “So let her come to you. Trust me; it’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier how?” Garrus asked suspiciously.

“Easier for a man that’s been _plagued_ by a record of police brutality, investigation mishandling and official reprimands,” Anderson answered coldly and Garrus felt both resentful and impressed. So the man had done his research. More kindly, Anderson continued, “It’ll look bad if you come to her about a case that you’ve been told to close.” Now that was more than research; that was live intel.

Garrus’ eyes narrowed. “How kind. So glad to see you have my career interests at heart.” Stepping a few paces closer so they could speak more quietly, he insisted, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

There was no obvious threat in his language but Garrus had gotten very good at conveying threats in a way that couldn’t be legally proven afterwards. But to his surprise, Anderson wasn’t threatened. He didn’t even appear to get angry or defensive. Instead, something close to sadness passed over the man’s face. Taking his cap off his head and clutching it in his hands, he sighed and said, “She’s ... she can be ... listen, Garrus.” A time tested tactic, using his first name as if they were long time friends, Garrus thought. Classic. “It’s better if you’re not the one going to her asking for a favour, okay? Just trust me.”

Searching him for any sign of a lie or deception, his visor picking up none of the usual biometrics of dishonesty, Garrus nodded and backed off. “The Butcher of Torfan wants to talk to me, huh?” he mused aloud, forcing a casual tone. “Well, you tell her that if she asks, I’ll try and clear my schedule, then.” He held his omni-tool to Anderson’s and they both glowed as they exchanged contact information.

With another curt downward nod, Garrus left the Alliance captain, wondering just what kind of person inspired their own commanding officer to issue pre-emptive warnings about them.

\

Come to him, she did. She must have gotten his contact information from Anderson very shortly afterwards, because she pinged him an invitation soon after, leading Garrus to wonder if perhaps the entire conversation with Anderson had been her machinations, as well.

_Xixhi’s at twenty three hundred, tomorrow._

It was five minutes passed twenty-three hundred and Garrus was unbecomingly nervous. He wasn’t technically doing anything _wrong_ , and he wasn’t even anywhere sketchy -- Xixhi’s was a perfectly respectable, if loud and crowded, highend quarian restaurant in the Upper Wards. But his heart was pounding and he kept nervously drumming his talons of the table top, scratching the surface and drawing nasty glares from the wait staff.

He didn’t even see her when she came in; didn’t even notice her until she sat down in front of him in the chair across their small table, lithe and quiet. She had the hood of a dark sweater pulled up, her hair brushed in a sweeping style to cover even more of her face, and looked surprisingly ... plain. Garrus wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, of course. A full suit of combat armour? An evening gown?

Her eyes were small for a human, and their natural set seemed to be squinting distrustfully, accompanied by thin lips curled into a permanent soft scowl. Although he had no preference for human appearances, even Garrus thought she looked rather unpleasant.

“Detective Vakarian,” she said respectfully. “I trust you know why we’re both here.” She was leaning over, elbows resting on the table, but still speak softly so Garrus had to lean in as well. Their voices were easily lost in the cloud of noise that settled over the bar. Intentional, Garrus realized.

“I know why I’m here,” Garrus rejoined. “Because I’m not stupid enough to turn down a fancy dinner on the Alliance’s tab. How about you?”

She gave a smile that seemed to cut her face open, harsh and jarring. “You’re funny, Vakarian.”

“Detective,” he corrected coolly.

Her horrible smile broadened and Garrus felt uneasy. “So you turians are vertebrates, after all, huh?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m an officer of the law,” Garrus snapped hotly, feeling his temper rise. “So I’d appreciate it if you kept your speciesist garbage to yourself.”

She laughed condescendingly and leaned back, holding her hands in the air. “It was just a joke, relax.” She folded her arms and he had to lean in even closer to hear what she was saying now that she’d backed off. “Listen, let’s get to business. You and I seem to be haunted by the same ghosts. I heard you have a lead.”

“Then you’d also have heard that I’ve been told to close the case.”

“Of course, and you just skipped right back to your office and got on that, didn’t you?” Shepard smiled again, more softly this time, like she was sharing a secret with him. Garrus said nothing. “What’d you find out at the lab, Vakarian?”

“How --”

“Your partner, Elyat,” Shepard shrugged. Garrus cursed her under his breath. “She’s a riot, especially after six beers.” More genuinely, she added: “Seriously, she’s hilarious. I like her; don't be mad at her. It’s not her fault I’m so charming.”

“Right. I’m half in love already,” Garrus intoned dryly.

“So you’re fifty percent slower than most people,” Shepard observed, quickly smiling again. “Just a joke, _detective._ So? What do you know? We can help each other.”

“The Alliance has no jurisdiction to be helping C-SEC with investigations --”

“ _Closed_ investigations, like you said. What’s anyone going to care about some psychotic Alliance bitch and a bad-tempered C-SEC investigator digging into a cold case, huh?” Narrowing her eyes, she pushed the sleeves of her sweater up and leaned forward again. “This ... ghost? We both want him held accountable for the shit he’s done. You’ve got the intel; I’ve got the balls to not give a shit about what anyone thinks and go after him. Let me handle this -- no one needs to know.” She waited for him to speak up. He didn’t; he couldn't. All he could think about was how forcibly Shepard reminded him of some of the higher up members in the gangs and mafias he'd help bust up, with her slick charisma and ever-present threat of violence.

Nonplussed by his silence, she continued, “See? I’ll take the fall for this one if it goes south. You get to help take him down without looking like you were trying to shake your good cop leash off, all right?”

Despite himself, Garrus felt himself agreeing with her. It _would_ be an easy way to continue this case and not get into (more) trouble. He had heard of her, and if he didn’t know Commander Shepard personally, he did know that no one would call her incompetent. But all the same ...

“Fine, I'll tell you. But this is _my_ case,” Garrus said proudly, trying not to sound stupid. “You go; I go.”

“You sure about that?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. He noticed the scar that cut it down the middle, giving one of her eyebrows a strange shape. “I can handle this, Vakarian. You can trust me to get it done.”

“No,” Garrus said, shaking his head for emphasis. “I’ve got blood samples pointing to a quarian who got med treatment from a doctor Chloe Michael in the Lower Wards. It matches the blood of a trail we followed from a shootout between a quarian and some thugs connected to our ghost.” Something clicked for him in that moment, suddenly. “And ... “ Thinking aloud, he said, “And I think this doctor is being set up for accusations of medical malpractice. Someone knows that we’re following the quarian, and they’re eliminating and discrediting everyone this quarian talked to along the way.”

“How do you know about these accusations?”

“I got put on a case about it,” he said quickly, still excited by his new realization. “The Executor --”

“Pallin? That stick up his ass bastard?”

Garrus laughed without intending and confirmed, “Yeah, him. Right after impressing upon me the importance of dropping the ghost case.”

“Interesting,” Shepard mused, folding her fingers together on the table so they were interlaced. Garrus found this digital flexibility bizarre and couldn’t help from staring at her hands. He was still staring at them, soft flesh and uselessly fragile, clipped nails while she said, “So either the Executor was trying to steer you in the right direction while _looking_ like he was on our ghost's side, or ...” She paused, scrunching up her face, then finishing: “Or he was hoping you’d find the evidence and discredit her yourself, getting your hands dirty too.” She looked down at his hands. "Talons, whatever."

Garrus looked up, startled. “No,” he argued automatically. “Turians aren’t like that, we don’t play stupid games like that.”

“What the fuck makes you think this is a game, Vakarian?” she dared him quietly, levelling him with a cold, penetrating stare. He swallowed and did not reply. Shepard nodded. “Okay,” she said, still nodding. “Okay, you can come with me.”

“Thanks,” Garrus answered with the relief. It wasn’t till they left the restaurant that Garrus realized how strange it was, that she had somehow managed to get him to ask permission to come on his own case.

\

Garrus realized later that he had probably meant it even then; not just come with her that night, to Dr. Michael’s clinic. He’d been asking for permission for much more; now he just had to be clear about it.

“I’m coming with you,” Garrus insisted, clipping his Mantis onto his back. “Saren’s out there giving a bad name to turians everywhere and ... I’m going to be there when you take him down.”

There was broken glass everywhere in the clinic and the doctor sat on the floor, her hands still shaking, eyes vacant and in shock. _“Nice shot_ ,” Shepard had commented when he’d rescued the doctor from Fist’s thugs. Not a reprimand; no comment about unnecessary risk, or potential civilian casualties. _Nice shot._

“That’s a pretty fucking lame reason to want to join,” Shepard commented dryly, bent over and clearing a jam out of her own shotgun. “What about, I want to help save the galaxy from this crazy ass Lovecraftian threat?”

“A what threat?” Garrus asked, confused. Hastily he added, “Sure, yes. I want to stop the Reapers, too.”

The human male -- Lieutenant Alenko, Garrus remembered -- frowned and folded his arms. “I don’t know,” he commented, studying Garrus. “You made a dangerous move just now. You’re reckless, Vakarian. You could have hurt Dr. Michael.”

Here it came. The lecture. Already, Garrus felt his exasperation rise with the arguments he was preparing; he was more than a hundred percent sure he was going to make the shot, his visor had the calculations to back him up, he had planned this from the beginning, he --

“I don’t need you lecturing my crew for me, Kaidan,” Shepard interjected calmly, standing back up. Did that mean ... ? “I’ll deal with disciplining him.”

“Yeah?” Kaiden replied disbelievingly. “How?”

“For starters, one of your lectures is too cruel of punishment, even by my standards.” She swung her shotgun over her shoulder and nodded at Garrus. “You can carry the extra med supplies the doctor is going to give us back to the Normandy medbay.”

“So ... I’m in?” Garrus inquired nervously.

“You think I’d let you set one foot on that ship if you weren’t?” Shepard demanded. “Now go get some supplies from our damsel in distress here.” She beckoned at the doctor with her head.

Garrus looked doubtfully at the doctor still uselessly sitting on the floor. “I think she needs some time to recover. I’ll call a medic.”

Shepard scoffed. “She’s fine.” She walked over to the doctor and nudged her with her boot. “Hey doc, we need some shit. Get up.”

Which caused Kaidan to exclaim,“ _Shepard_!” He ran over too and knelt down in front of the doctor, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

While Kaidan cooed and consoled the doctor, Shepard looked up and made eye contact with Garrus. She shared an exasperated expression with Garrus, the kind that accompanied typically annoying but endearing behaviour, and Garrus felt himself smiling back. 

Later he would think about the careful, spidery way she'd strung him along at the restaurant; the callous lack of regard she had for the doctor's well-being and the patronizing way she tolerated Alenko's good heart; or above all, the grave way that Anderson had warned him of being in her debt, with the weariness of someone who'd long since lost control and had resigned themselves to lifetime of damage control. 

But he did not think of those things now. Now, he was just glad to be in.


End file.
